


Sure is a Damn Small World

by Croik



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Tasers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry takes on one of the many Adler mansions while looking for his biggest score yet, thinking the owners are away.  Oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sure is a Damn Small World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delina/gifts).



There were a lot of worse ideas he could have gone with, so Harry told himself as he crawled on his belly down a line of thorn-laden shrubs. Just because he couldn't think of many at the moment didn't mean otherwise.

He'd made it past the wall, the guards, the dogs, the cameras. It had taken long enough that he was beginning to wonder if he could make it back _out_ before daylight, which was pretty important, given that he didn't have much of a plan if he got spotted. If even the best laid plans often went awry, then his blueprints sketched on a bar napkin didn't stand much of a chance. But it was a little late to be worrying about that, when he was already up to his neck in the mansion's botanical fortifications.

Worse plans had gone off without a hitch. Couldn't think of any examples of that, either, but Harry didn't pride himself on his memory anyway.

He reached the end of the line and waited, watching the blinking light of a security camera panning back and forth along the mansion's southeast corner. He had a very small window and the timing would have to be perfect. As soon as the lens began its southward turn, he darted out from under the hedges and leapt, propelling himself off a line of bricks in the wall to grab the bottom of a window ledge. Before the camera had time to swing around again, he clawed himself up the side of the building not unlike a clumsy squirrel and positioned himself directly above it, out of the sight line.

Not that the camera was even the biggest concern. The wall he'd chosen to scale didn't have any handy balconies to cover him; all it would take was one guard glancing in his direction, and he would be right fucked. And this was _not_ the place to get fucked.

Because not only was Harry fresh out of Shanghai favors to cash in, the wall he was scrambling up belonged to the Adlers. The black-market-dealing, in-with-the-Triads, wipe-you-and-your-ancestors-off the-map Adlers. Oh, the stories he'd heard out of places like this. On the outside, they could own everything of value in Harry's life ten thousand times over. On the inside...well. It wasn't about to help his nerves any dwelling on _that_.

A dog barked in the distance. Harry just about molted out of his skin, making an uncharacteristically daring leap for a near wall perpendicular to his. He hooked his fingers over a window ledge and scrambled to drag himself higher, finally reaching a small balcony and window box he could tumble over. But it wasn't much cover, and Harry stayed put only long enough to determine that there wasn't an alarm on the glass. In fact, the window wasn't even locked.

 _All that money spent on security, you think they'd at least lock the bloody windows_ , Harry thought as he inched it carefully open. The wood had swelled in the summer heat and wasn't too keen on being budged. But he managed to get it just wide enough that he was able to squeeze through, and he did so as quickly and silently as possible. It put him, as planned, in a corner guest bedroom. With Mr. Adler and his wife spending their summer somewhere in Eastern Europe, there was no reason for anyone to be inside.

So why the hell was someone snoring away in the king sized bed?

Harry went very still. He was afraid to even close the window behind him. With breath held he made a quick scan of the room to judge his options and exits. If he retreated back outside, he'd have to swing around a corner to get to the next window that would hopefully lead to a hallway. Then there was the door. The room was large but not nearly the size he imagined the master to be, and it was still dark; if he ran, he could probably make it before the man in the bed got his bearings enough to see his face. He sure didn't sound like a light sleeper, at least. But the door was near the head of the bed, and Harry would have to pass pretty damn close to make it out. If the mystery occupant _did_ wake….

There wasn't much of a choice. Harry tightened the satchel against his back and crept on all fours toward the foot of the bed.

 _That blasted Cutter must have known the house wasn't empty_ , he thought as he crawled, watching the sheets drooping off the edge of the bed for any movement. _Thought he'd take me out of the picture, did he?_ In safer circumstances he might have laughed at the notion. _He never would'a made it this far himself. Not past the dogs._

Harry reached the foot of the bed, and the snoring stopped. __Again he was forced to pause as he strained his ear for any indication of his host's wakefulness. _Don't wake up,_ he prayed, and when enough time had passed that he couldn't afford to wait any longer, he peeked over the mattress. _Don't wake up, don't wake up._

He could see feet, at least. The man, who seemed to be early thirties at best, had rolled onto his side facing the door that Harry was aiming for. He was dressed only in a pair of boxers with sweaty sheets tangled between his knees. No movement, except his much more subdued breathing. Harry swallowed, telling himself not to be a coward as he continued his careful progress to the exit.

He was halfway there, planning ahead to how he would make his escape from a window in the study, when he glanced up and found the man on the bed staring at him.

Rafe Adler himself. God fucking damn it.

Harry's legs were already coiled beneath him. He pushed off the floor, thinking he could still make the door and skip thievery straight into exit strategy: Back of Napkin, but Rafe was fast for being half asleep. He leapt from the bed, catching Harry around the stomach and dragging them both to the ground in a pile among the sheets. Harry's pulse raced as he shoved and kicked to try and break free—the thud they made against the hardwood must have alerted _someone_ , and pretty soon he'd have no safe routes out.

Rafe was tough for his size, but Harry was just enough of a scraper that he managed to roll him to his back. Without thinking it through, he punched Rafe right in the nose and knocked his skull into the floor; didn't break anything, but damn, was it a bad idea to bloody a man like this. All those terrible stories he'd heard down in the city bars were suddenly at the forefront of his mind. _He's killed for less_ , too many of them ended. As Rafe cursed and groaned, Harry clawed himself to his feet and grabbed for the door. But by the time he was twisting it open, Rafe had already recovered and was at his back.

Literally—he threw himself on Harry's back, twisting his arms around his neck and cutting off his air. Thankfully, daddy's least favorite didn't know a thing about a proper sleeper hold. Harry had plenty of fight left, and he twisted them about, backing them as hard as he could into the wall. When that didn't manage to dislodge him, Harry pried the arms around his neck loose enough to get his chin down. A reverse head-butt did the trick; Rafe choked on a shout and let go.

Harry gave up on the door and instead made a dash for the window. The odds weren't good but at least he would be more familiar with his way out if he was backtracking. He didn't get more than a few steps before he heard Rafe yank something out of the dresser.

"Don't move!" he ordered.

Odds were plummeting by the second. Six steps to the window—at least six shots no matter what kind of gun Rafe had pulled. He didn't have Nate's luck when it came to dodging bullets, so he stopped, hands raised. Maybe Rafe was dumb enough to get back in striking range. "Whoa," he said. "Now hold—"

Rafe pulled the trigger, but it wasn't bullets that caught Harry in the back; two electrodes latched onto his shirt and pumped him full of 30,000 volts. His entire body snapped tight with a pain unlike anything he'd felt before, swift and jittering all through him. Harry Flynn had done manic and panic before, but _helpless_ , that was mortifyingly new. He could feel his small hairs rising, his muscles spasming, teeth gnashing. He could have sworn he was crying out, but he couldn't hear anything. And then suddenly, almost anticlimactically, it stopped, and he was face down on the ground.

"Ffuuuck…." Harry groaned, sore and stunned and totally unable to fight back when Rafe rolled him over. His breath came back to him faster than he expected, but then it was being forced from him again as Rafe climbed into his chest. With shins pinning his arms to the floor, knees too far out of range for a kick and smooth hardwood denying his boots leverage, he was trapped. All he had left were a handful of wits to shield himself with.

"In my defense," he wheezed, "I _didn't_ move after you told me…."

Rafe snorted. He sounded amused—was that a good thing? Harry peered blearily up at him; his face was bloodied, hair mussed from sleeping and fighting, but the gleam in his eyes was more akin to curiosity than murderous intent. He didn't seem surprised at all to be squatting on an invader in his bedroom. Then he poked Harry in the underside of his chin with what sure felt like a real gun.

"Who sent you?" he asked.

"No one," Harry said quickly. Though still aching, at least the effects of the taser were wearing off. If only he could get free, he'd have full use of his limbs again. He just had to stall for an opening. "No one, I'm just…." He shrugged as best he could. "A petty thief. Cat burglar."

Rafe regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "Do you even know where you are?"

Harry made a helpless face. "Sorry, mate. All these mansions look the same to me."

Rafe stared for a moment longer, waiting for him to break character. Then he leaned back, chuckling incredulously. "You must not be very good at your job," he said.

"You'd be surprised," Harry replied. "I did get in, after all."

"Good for you." Rafe dug the muzzle of the gun into Harry's throat and thumbed the hammer back. "I sure hope it was worth it."

Harry blanched, and though he knew it was pointless, he struggled against the weight pinning him. "Wait—wait, wait." He smiled sheepishly to keep from anything else from making it into his face. "You're really gonna put a hole in these floors over a nobody like _me_?"

Rafe narrowed his eyes at him. "You're Flynn, aren't you?"

Harry gulped; he could feel his Adam's apple bob against the barrel. He hadn't expected to be recognized and had no idea if it worked in his favor or not. "That depends," he said, trying to sound flippant, even though they were pressed so close that Rafe could probably feel him sweating. "Who have you talked to?"

Rafe leaned forward again. He grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair, jerking his head back while the other jabbed the gun harder into his neck. "Let's try this again," he said. "Who sent you?"

"No one," Harry said again, but it was obvious that his act wasn't getting him anywhere, and he was pretty sure he could hear the footsteps of guards down the hall, so he finally surrendered the truth. "I wanted a peak at the artifacts brought back from the dig."

"Artifacts?" Rafe's manner grew abruptly serious. "So you _are_ Harry Flynn."

Harry still had no idea what that meant for him, and could only shrug again. He was saved from having to answer when a man shouted from beyond the door, "Mr. Adler! Are you all right?"

The muscles along Rafe's mouth twitched as he debated silently with himself. Harry assumed he was choosing between a swift or drawn-out death for his prisoner, but as security appeared in the doorway, Rafe suddenly shifted position and lunged forward. Before Harry could even let his life flash before his eyes, he was being smothered in a heavy, biting kiss.

It was an almost out-of-body experience. _Ah, the old kiss distraction trope_ , Harry thought, bewildered and detached, as Rafe smeared blood over his mouth. _Never thought I'd be on the receiving end, let alone with another bloke…._ He was struck stiller than he'd been beneath the taser and could only wait it out, heart in his ears and lips tingling.

It seemed to have a similar effect on security. Harry couldn't see much, but he did catch an awkward cough and shifting bodies. "Mr. Adler…?"

Rafe pulled back with a huge gulp of air, wiping his mouth on the back of his forearm. He kept the gun at Harry's throat, though carefully out of view of the guards. "Sorry," he tossed over his shoulder to them. "Playtime got a little rough, but we're fine."

The lead guard sighed in a way that said, _This again,_ and despite his precarious situation, Harry's curiosity was morbidly piqued. "Yes, sir," he said, and he began ushering his fellow back into the hall.

"Whatever you hear from now on, that door stays closed!" Rafe called after him, and with hurried reassurances, the men left.

Harry remained absolutely motionless until he felt the gun being drawn back, and Rafe climbed off of him. He hadn't even realized that his hands had been losing feeling thanks to the pressure on his arms, but the pins and needles rattling his fingers reminded him. Cautiously, he sat up, shaking his hands. There was blood in his mouth and maybe burn marks on his back but so far he was still alive and he wasn't entirely sure why. "Not that I'm ungrateful," he said, eying the distance to the window, "but what's your game?"

Rafe set the gun down on a low dresser, opening it not to reveal clothes or shoes, but a stocked bar. "There's nothing left from the dig still here," he said as he poured himself a shot of vodka. "It's all been sold, auctioned off, donated. Seems a shame to kill you over nothing."

Nothing left. Harry heaved a sigh and dropped onto his back again. Walls, guards, dogs, cameras, Rafe bloody Adler, and nothing left. He might still get dropped into a triad basement torture chamber but all he could do was laugh. That prick Cutter had some bad karma headed his way, at least he could console himself with that. When Rafe nudged him with his foot he flinched back at first, but then he realized he was being offered a shot. He propped himself up only high enough that he could suck it down. It was smooth as silk but it tasted coppery.

"For curiosity's sake," said Rafe, "what exactly were you after? You must have had a specific artifact in mind."

Harry handed the glass back, nodding his thanks. There was still something too easy in Rafe's eyes, as if he didn't fully appreciate their situation, let alone the weight of the gun that had just been in his hands. It probably wasn't worth the risk to lie to him. "An oil lamp," he said. "Made out of jade, with Mongolian script."

Rafe made a face as he leaned back against the dresser. "Why? It's not worth anything."

"Yes, well." Harry shrugged one shoulder. "Worthless is my specialty."

Rafe considered that for a moment, and though his expression remained neutral, Harry could sense something in him grow tense. "Did Nathan put you up to this?"

There it was. Suddenly everything made a lot more sense, because no one could give someone the crazy-eye like their apparently mutual acquaintance. Harry tried not to react but it must have been in his eyes, too. There was a special kind of bonding that occurred between those dicked over by Nathan Drake. It made his stomach ache.

"No," Harry answered truthfully, sitting up a bit taller. "I got a client on this one." It probably wasn't worth it to say more, but he did it anyway. "I didn't know the two of you had met."

Rafe's lip quirked. "It's a small world we live in," he said.

"Small as," Harry agreed. "A little too small, sometimes."

Rafe nodded as he poured out another shot. "What's Nathan up to these days?" he asked. He offered the drink to Harry.

Harry's pulse stumbled. Rafe's face and posture may have been attempts at casual, but what he heard was _Where can I find him?_ And there was only one way that particular line of inquiry ever ended. And sure, Harry was bitter. Sure, he'd been left behind one time too many to consider loyalty the default option. But selling out a comrade to a rich weasel just to save his own skin? Not a great story for his usual crowd.

"Oh, you know." Harry pulled himself up and leaned against the dresser next to his host. "Same crap he always is, probably." He accepted the shot and downed it. It was strong stuff and he'd regret it once it was time to make his exit, but heaven forbid he look unappreciative.

"Probably." Rafe continued to stare at him for a while, considering for long enough that Harry began cycling through his last-heard rumors, trying to remember where they pointed to Nate being. How much torture would he have to endure before squealing became acceptable to his pride? But then Rafe relaxed, plucking a towel from the bar setup for him to wipe his face with.

"That lamp you're after was donated to the Istanbul Palace Museum," he said, and Harry was suddenly thirsting for the rest of the vodka. "Along with a few other things. Last time anyone tried to lift from there, two of their team didn't make it back out."

"But one did," Harry finished, mind whirling. Instead of a weasel, Rafe was offering him wolves. Now _there_ was a story. His chest swelled with an unfamiliar sensation and he didn't know what to think let alone how to act. The blood still on his mouth was muddling his judgment; he tried to scrape it off on his sleeve. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to just ask for it back for me?"

Rafe tongued the inside of his cheek. "What would you give me for it?"

Harry saw warning lights. He threw up a sly grin almost involuntarily as a line of defense, but before he could think of something witty to go with it, Rafe was in front of him. Rafe was cornering him with his hands bracing on the dresser. Rafe was nudging his knee insistently between Harry's thighs.

"Oy—wait—hold on there, mate," Harry babbled, heart thumping as he pressed his back hard into the dresser. He was prepared to climb right up on it if Rafe got any closer to prick contact. "Can we negotiate?"

Rafe scoffed. "Like you have anything else to offer me?" He tugged Harry's shirt up, slipped his hand beneath it. The greedy, broad exploration of his sweaty palm across his stomach wasn't like the slender ladyfingers Harry was used to, and his entire body went hot and tingly, mortified and…intrigued? A little? He squirmed and even held his breath as Rafe groped along his ribs, completely at a loss.

Rafe's other hand grabbed the neck of his shirt and pulled, drawing them close enough together that he could trap his mouth in another kiss. He still tasted like blood, but also vodka, his lips hot and enticing. Harry told himself it might have been worth it to get what he was after. A first time for everything, right? A mouth was still a mouth, and…maybe Rafe wouldn't ask too much. Steeling his courage, he gripped the desk and kissed Rafe back.

Rafe murmured with approval. "That's the spirit," he said, sliding his hand to Harry's waist. His slow squeeze gave Harry goose bumps. "Besides, I've always wanted to break one of Nathan's toys."

Harry seethed with a very different kind of heat, and with a scowl he shoved Rafe off him. Why were his hands suddenly shaky? He jerked his shirt back down and said, "I think I'd rather take my chances with Turkish prison, if it's all the same to you."

Rafe held his hands up in surrender and backed off. "Suit yourself."

Harry wiped his mouth with the collar of his shirt. "We both know you couldn't just ask for it back anyway, right?"

"Of course not," Rafe admitted. "But do you blame me for trying?"

He went back into the bar, but what he pulled out next was only a bottle of water. He splashed some on his face, first, letting the remaining blood dribble off his chin. As he drank the rest, Harry found his imagination on the prowl again. He tried to swallow it down—he barely had his breath back, it was no time to be prodding—and then ended up asking anyway. "So. You. And Drake….?"

"Drake and I _what_?"

"Obviously I mean…." Harry gestured helplessly. "Didn't think he was into that, is all."

Rafe stared at him. "He's not."

"So…." Harry's brow furrowed. He was sure he wasn't imagining that gleam of bitterness in Rafe's hooded eyes. Not to mention the implications of their conversation earlier. "What'd he do to you?"

"What he's best at," Rafe replied dryly. "He walked away."

Harry felt an uncharacteristic pang of sympathy. He knew damn well just what Nate's back looked like. "Actually," he said, "what he really excels at is _running_ away."

That made Rafe chuckle, and he handed Harry a fresh bottled water. Apparently they had bonded after all. "You should probably get out of here before security turns over," he said. "The morning shift is jumpier than the night guys."

Harry finished his gulp and then made a face. "You'll offer me a drink but not a ticket out of here?"

"Why would I?" Rafe smirked. "You were good enough to get in all by yourself."

Harry offered a half grimace in return. "Right…." He took one more drink and then set it down, pushing away from the dresser. The night's bizarre events had left him light-headed and was he _not_ looking forward to the thorn bushes, let alone the dogs. He gave his shoulders a stretch. "Well, Mr. Adler, it's certainly been an experience, but—"

"I'm fucking kidding," Rafe interrupted. He waved for Harry to follow him to the door. "I'll tell the boys to back down. You can walk right out the front door." There was a cordless phone on the way that he lifted from its dock. "But next time, make an appointment, will you?"

 _Next time?_ Harry pushed his hair out of his face and wasn't surprised when sweat kept it still. "Sure, sure. Next time."

Rafe opened the door for him and stepped back. "Are you really going after it?" he asked, all lazy curiosity again. "The lamp, I mean."

"Of course. I've got to get my three wishes." Harry wasn't sure what kind of parting was appropriate, so he went for a salute. "Thanks for not blowing my head off."

"Call it a professional courtesy," Rafe replied easily.

Harry started to walk out, but Rafe took him by the elbow, gripping tight. His face didn't changed. "You'll let me know, won't you? How it goes?"

Harry tried to look just as unconcerned, but he probably didn't succeed. "Oh, I'm sure you'll hear about it," he said. "However it ends."

"Good luck," said Rafe, and then he let go, and Harry moved on.

He moved through the mansion as quickly but as non-incriminatingly as possible. He crossed paths with a few guards along the way, but they only offered curt nods to acknowledge him and then went about their business. It was a mystifying experience and Harry found his instincts knotted. Better to be inaccurately labeled by a bunch of well-armed strangers as Rafe Addler's fucktoy than enemy, and normally it wouldn't have ruffled a feather, but it was a little different with lingering fingerprints heating his belly. He felt as if Rafe had signed a contract on his skin.

 _The museum is a three man job,_ Harry thought, picking up his pace once he was outside. _Drake won't be able to resist, not once he knows what we're after. And if something happens...._ He rubbed his stomach. _I'm gaining more than I'm losing. By far._

Mind made up, he hurried onward, eager to begin planning.


End file.
